


freedom, books, flowers, and the moon

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: "With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?"Bookstore AU in which Harry takes the time to heal.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	freedom, books, flowers, and the moon

**Author's Note:**

> Posted originally on my Tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> Quote: Oscar Wilde.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, please leave a kudos or a comment if you've enjoyed!

For many, the second wizarding war had been less than a year long. They had experienced less than a year of the insecurity, the anxiety and the dread that goes through everyone’s mind in time of war.

For Harry, the second wizarding war had been a lot longer. He had been battling the Dark Lord mind to mind for years, and after his defeat, he felt exhausted. He was not only drained physically – the final duel taking its toll on him. But he was drained mentally, for all of a sudden, the space in his mind that he had shared with the darkest wizard in a century, was free. Harry could no longer feel his presence within him; the dark part of him that festered like an open wound.

It was a good thing, that he could no longer feel him. Harry knew that. But still, a part of him lingered too long on the idea that this was all a sense of false security. He had been living on the adrenaline of the chase for too long, and now that it was leaving his body, Harry had no clue what he needed to do. What he wanted to do.

He had the option of becoming an auror, and his teachers had supported him with that career choice. But a small part of him wondered whether he would be damaging himself further by throwing himself back into the fray to round up the last remaining Death Eaters.

It’s Hermione who plants this idea of him going away in his head. She has watched him battle internally with the different possible paths of his future; she had watch him argue and argue with his mind until he still had no answer.

Hermione tells him one night, over tea at the Burrow, “Harry, why don’t you get away for a while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean go somewhere. Take some time away to heal; to come to terms with the last few years of your life. We’ve spent so long on the move, always aware, that you haven’t had the time to process your emotions for everything.”

“Where would I go?” He whispers, fear creeping into his voice.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione says softly, “Let’s look at a map.” With a flick of her wand, a map of the British Isles lays itself out in front of them. “Where would you fancy?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry confesses, eyes pouring over the details of the maps – taking in the numerous counties.

“Okay. Close your eyes and point on the count of three.” Hermione states, “Are you ready?”

Harry closes his eyes, shuffling forward on the chair, “I’m ready.”

“3…2…1.” Hermione counts, and Harry’s finger circles the map once before landing.

Harry refuses to open his eyes. He’s in disbelief that he’s let himself decide his future on a three, two, one countdown. He’s been impulsive before but now he’s wary.

He doesn’t want to look. “Where am I going then?”

He can hear Hermione shuffle to look at where his finger has landed; her silence giving nothing away.

“Hermione?” He asks, slight panic setting in.

“Harry, take a look.”

Harry opens his eyes, blinking quickly before focusing on the map and his finger.

His finger points to a small village in Yorkshire. A place he had never been to. 

Harry falls back into the chair with a sigh, “I guess that’s where I’m going.”

\--------

_Spring_ :

Harry moves in the spring.

He spends the final weeks of winter with the Weasleys being stopped at all times of the day to be told why he shouldn’t be doing this; that he could heal just as well in the wizarding world.

He loves their attempts to get him to stay, but they don’t entirely understand why he needs to go.

He arrives in the small Yorkshire village on a bright day in March; blossoms have started to bloom on the trees and in a week, they would be covered, filling their air with their sweet and floral scent. His misses everyone strongly; feeling it keenly within his chest, but he knows how desperately needed to get away.

A month into his arrival at the small village in the moors, Harry feels he has settled very well into country life. He’s found his routine and he feels as if he’s beginning to heal from the trauma of the war and before. The clean, country air clears his lungs and his daily walks through the village has mind numb enough and his body tired enough that he can sleep through most of the night without waking once from a nightmare.

He still struggles; his still has those moments where he can’t be certain the war has finished and he’s safe but the longer he spends in the village, the less they happen.

A month into his arrival at the small village, Harry realises that he needs to thank Hermione for what she did for him that night at the Burrow. She saw his suffering and gave him a solution.

Walking through the green, he spies the small bookshop nestled on the corner of a small side street. If there was anything on this planet that Hermione loved more than Ron, it was a book.

Harry pauses for an instant outside the door to take in the window display. Both windows, and even the door window, have been painted with a cherry blossom display to mark the true entrance into spring. The blossoms fall from the tree in swirls of pinks and red, falling over the books perched on the windowsill inside – the personal recommendations for the season.

The bell above the door chimes as Harry enters the shop and he is immediately overwhelmed with the smell of old books, worn leather, and what he think is lavender. It is comforting though. He had never been much of a reader other than Quidditch strategy manuals, but something about this little shop has him feeling at home among the countless shelves piled high with books. He takes a few steps further into the shop, eyes running over title after title on multiple paperbacks and hardbacks.

Harry runs his fingers over the spines of the leather-bound volumes but stops when he realises that he hasn’t any idea of the type of book Hermione enjoys to read. She had textbooks in her hands so often at Hogwarts, but Harry can’t recall the last time he had seen her with a fiction book open in her lap.

He frowns, glaring at the books.

“Can I help you?” A lilting voice sounds from behind the stacks, “You look to be in a bad mood with my books, and that can’t possibly be right.”

“This is your shop?”

“For the last year it has been, before that I used to just work weekends.”

“It’s very homely.” Harry compliments.

You chuckle, “It’s overstocked but it adds charm and character, plus the more books there, the stronger the old book smell. So stranger, how can I help you?”

Harry blushes slightly, “My name is Harry, you can call me Harry. I can’t decide what to buy for a friend.”

You come out from behind the shelves, and Harry’s eyes rake over you – taking in the nose piercing and the small tattoos peeking out of the sleeves of your jumper.

“Well Harry, I’m (Y/N). What does your friend like to read?”

“I don’t really know; I only ever saw her read textbooks at school to keep her grades up.”

You smile understandingly; indecision was something you encountered often in your shop, “Alright, let’s see what I can drum up. Would you like to follow me?”

Harry nods in answer but you don’t see. You’ve already turned away from him making your way through the complicated maze of shelves. Harry follows blindly, keeping his eyes on the back of your head.

You stop by a shelf that isn’t as occupied as the others. In fact, compared to the other shelves, this one is empty of books. Only a few books stand on the shelf, wide gaps between them.

Your eyes run over their spines; head tilted slightly; you think before pulling a book from its space. “I think this one will do,” you murmur, holding the book out for Harry to take.

“Agnes Grey?” He reads from the front cover.

“You’re in Bronte country, you have to know that right?”

“I’ve never heard of them,” He admits to which you gasp, holding a hand to your chest.

“I am hurt, good sir. You’ll have to buy this book for your friend now.”

Harry smiles, “I think I might. If she has read anything by the Bronte’s, I’m not to know.”

“It’s a rare edition as well. There’s only around a fifty or so copies left so I’m making sure it’s going to good home.”

“It definitely is. My friend worships books.”

You lead Harry to the till where the book is rang through and paid for. “Let me know what she thinks? She must be very special for you to buy this.”

Harry takes the book with a smile, “I’ll be back to let you know.”

\---------

_Summer_ :

Spring bleeds into summer, and the floral scent from spring has turned into something headier – pulling Harry out bed earlier, keeping him outside for longer. Each day he walks past your shop, waving back at you as you wave to him from your seat by the till. Harry returns to your shop when he received Hermione’s owl thanking him for his gift and asking where he found such a rare edition.

Harry was more than happy to pass on Hermione’s compliments to you, enjoying the way you light up at his friend’s words.

“What about you? Do you read?” You ask him.

Harry shakes his head. At the look on your face, Harry suddenly wishes he had read every single book available to him and Hogwarts. “You’ll have to recommend something to me.” He suggests.

You disappear between the stacks at his words, reading title after title before finding one you think he would like.

You give a shout of success when you find the book you were looking for. You refuse to show Harry the title as you place it gently into a paper bag.

“I know you’ll like this, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“Which is?” Harry replies, curiosity lacing his tone.

“You have to promise me to come back and tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I promise.” Harry replies, too fast… much too fast, but it doesn’t seem like you mind.

You smile at him, “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

Harry reaches for his wallet, having every intention on paying you but your hand on his arm has him freezing, “No payment needed,” You state firmly, “Just come back and tell me what you think.”

Harry thanks you, which you wave away, before leaving. He hightails it back to his home where he makes himself a pot of coffee and sits down at his kitchen table with your brown paper bag in front of him. He feels nervous as he opens the bag, hands wrapping around a thick paperback.

The book cover is predominantly black, but there are two white figures on the front surrounded by objects found in a circus. Harry take a sip of his coffee before opening to the first page: _‘The circus arrives without warning.’_

He doesn’t move for the rest of the day; he remains sat at his kitchen table in awe of the book in front of him. He finishes the coffee but doesn’t get up to make another post for fear of being pulled away from the story so soon. Harry feels as if the author herself has been in contact with magic and understands the base wonder that comes with it. His eyes pour over the pages, committing to memory the love story and the saga of The Night Circus.

He closes the book hours later, feeling both bereft and satisfied at the end.

For a long time, Harry stares at the book wondering how a collection of pages bound in black and white could hold him so tightly to the fictional world.

He goes to bed filled with happiness but also empty from the fact that he had finished it so soon. Thoughts of the books have him falling into a sleep wherein he doesn’t wake screaming from nightmares, but rather dreams of striped monochromatic circus tents and caramel popcorn.

Harry paces his living room until it’s a suitable time to run to your bookshop. The moment the clock strikes nine, he’s out the door, putting on his jacket as he runs. He holds the book in his hands as if it’s made of glass; as if one wrong move, and the dream world he entered from the first page, will be shattered.

The relief Harry feels when he sees your shop light on spurs him faster. He bustles in through the door, giving you a fright. “Harry!”

“What is this book?” He practically shouts, holding the cover up for you to see.

You grin widely, “So you finished it?”

“I didn’t move until I had!” He cries.

“So you enjoyed it then?”

“I loved it. I’ve never read a book like this before.”

“I knew you would. The minute I saw the cover.”

“I just couldn’t put it down.”

You nod, knowing that exact feeling so well it was second nature, “Have I brought you to the dark side then, Harry?”

Harry grins toothily, “I don’t know. What else do you have?”

He visits your shop every day after that, bringing you lunch and a takeaway cup of tea. You admitted to him early on in your friendship that you got so caught up in the stacks of books that you often forgot to eat until it was closing time and you were ravenous, so Harry makes it his mission to bring you lunch.

He had never been much of a cook; had never needed to with the house-elves at Hogwarts but for you, he could scrape together a couple of sandwiches and a flask of tea.

Your bookshop gets more traffic through summer due to the tourist season – people come from far and wide to walk the moors and step where the Bronte sisters once did, each imagining their own Heathcliff or Mr. Rochester. Harry hasn’t seen you happier than when you recommend a book to a customer knowing that it is the right fit. You greet every customer with a smile and give them personalised recommendations if they’re struggling with their choice.

The window display changes too. A summer scene now covers the windows and door; bright colours depict a summer sunset at the beach whilst the books recommended this season are lovingly placed on the windowsill.

Summer also brings with it the change in your relationship. A close friendship develops between the two of you; you even going so far to invite Harry over to your flat above the bookshop. Harry’s nervous as he enters your home, but soon falls in love with it.

Pressed, dried flowers decorate the walls in frames. They litter the walls in their varying sizes. Harry finds himself wandering over to them, checking if his seven years of Herbology was to fail him. Irises, rose petals, lavender – he can identify those easily. However, there are some that he feels certain that Professor Sprout or Neville wouldn’t be able to identify.

You notice him studying your walls, “It’s a hobby of mine along with the books.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Thank you,” You murmur, shyly, “My grandmother taught me; she loved the quote by Oscar Wilde.”

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage.”

“ _’With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?’_ She lived by this quote. It’s their bookshop below us, you see, and she taught me how to press flowers and she would always find something romantic to say about the moon. My grandmother was a free spirit that even my grandfather could not tame, but why would you want to?”

“She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was, I miss her.”

“She’d be proud of how you’re running the shop.”

“Thank you, Harry. Now would you like a drink? I have coffee, tea, hot chocolate…”

“I’ll have a coffee please.” Harry says, sitting down on the aged couch. Your flat is a collision of personalities; he can clearly see your grandparents influence among your own decoration and it creates something entirely unique.

You come back into living room with two mugs of coffee in either hand. You give one to harry before sitting next to him. He smiles at you in thanks before asking, “What are you reading currently?”

From the way your eyes light up as you talk about your current read along with your love for your shop, Harry begins to feel himself slowly fall in love with you.

He can feel the change in the air after that night. His feelings for you are well established within him. You help him feel hope for the future; for a better world – and he wants to share that world with you. but he feels the pressure of his secret weighing down on him.

He hasn’t told you out of fear; he can’t gauge your reaction to finding out he’s a wizard and classed as a war-hero. He’s worried to tell you for the panic that it could potentially ruin the budding relationship between you.

Harry confesses under candlelight. A summer storm knocked out the power, so he helps you light you large collection of candles before lying on the floor of your flat next to you.

There’s something pure about the atmosphere, with being surrounded by tens of candles that Harry feels he needs absolution from keeping this from you for so long. He whispers his confession; tells you everything. From his birth until now. He hopes and hopes for repentance among the flickering flames of the candles.

You’re silent through the exchange; letting Harry say his piece. Giving him the chance to unload the weight of the world upon his shoulders as if he were mighty Atlas.

In the end, what Harry says makes no difference to you. You had fallen in love with him over the short time you had known him, and what he confesses doesn’t affect your feelings in any shape of form. If anything, they make them stronger for it shows how much Harry must trust you to tell you something so deep and personal.

You turn onto your side once Harry has fallen silent and is waiting for your reply. You brush a hand across his forehead, pushing his hair, looking at the faded pink scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. “You have been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes at the feel of your hand running through his hair. He hasn’t felt like this for so long; he cannot remember the last time he had felt this relaxed and safe at the same time. He whispers this to you, “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

“I’m glad I make you feel safe.”

Harry turns onto his side, running a finger down the length of your face. He doesn’t miss how you shiver at his touch. He leans in slightly, intoxicated by your very presence but he pulls away at the last possible moment to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Your free hand pulls him in by his shirt collar, “I’d thought you’d never ask,” You laugh before pressing your lips to his.

In the few months that he has known you, he has fallen head over heels for you. You help to calm the figurative storm that rages within him. In the little flat above the bookshop he has come to adore, he whispers that he loves you.

\-------

_Autumn:_

Summer gives way to autumn and the leaves begin to fall from the trees in earnest. The world returns to orange brown. Your relationship with Harry goes from strength to strength; you’re there to help with the nightmares and the panic that paralyses him now and then. It starts slow, using the bookshop as common ground to get to know each other better.

You decorate the display windows of the bookshop, bringing in Harry to help, though he would have helped you whether you had asked him or not. “Tell me again why we’re painting the windows?” he asks.

You flick a clean paintbrush at him, “Because Harry, it is autumn and autumn means one thing: Halloween. I do it every season; spring, summer, autumn and winter.”

Harry frowns, focusing his attention on painting the outline of a pumpkin, “I’ve never celebrated Halloween.”

“You haven’t? Why?”

“My parents were killed on Halloween, and my aunt and uncle never took me trick or treating anyway.”

You step down from the ladder, placing the paint pot to one side and wiping your hands on your apron. Your hand pulls his away from the window, focusing his attention on you. “I didn’t know, Harry, I’m sorry.” You murmur, wrapping him in a hug.

“You weren’t to know,” He sighs, hugging you tightly back.

You draw back slightly, still not letting him go, “How about this: we spend the day of Halloween mourning your parents, and we spend the evening eating ourselves sick on chocolate and sweets?”

“You’d spend the day with me?”

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

Harry spends his Halloween with you. He spends his morning with you in the bookshop, stocking the shelves and reminiscing. You asked him if it would be too painful for him to talk about his parents, but he reassured you that his memories are few and far between so all he truly knows is what he has been told. For the rest of the day, he wanders between the bookshelves, telling you the stories of the Marauders.

“It would make a good book,” You gasp, breathless from laughter as Harry finishes his latest story.

“Do you think?”

“I think that if it was a book, I would definitely read it.”

Harry thinks over your words for a while. He wouldn’t ever write the book; his memories of his family are too precious for him to share with the world but he’s happy to share them all with you. As he dawdles in the shop, inhaling the comforting smell of worn leather and lavender, he thinks that he has never been more grateful for a bookshop in all his life. He feels almost whole again; your shop and you are helping to heal the ever-shrinking hole in his heart.

In the evening, he presses chocolatey kisses to your lips, interrupting you reading the book that had started this all those months ago. You laugh into his mouth, the book falling to the side as you adjust your positions. You taste like Halloween sweets and he’s entirely addicted to it.

Harry wakes on the first of November with a clearer sense of the path he wants his life to travel down. As he watches you sleep, he knows that it involves books and you – the freedom you offer. Harry watches the sun rise across your face with a new found sense of purpose; he wants to stay here, and he wants to stay with you. He’s lived in this Yorkshire village for months, but he knows

\------

_Winter_ :

Winter brings with it ice and snow, but it also brings with the year anniversary of his decision to move to the sleepy Yorkshire village.

Hermione and Ron begin to visit often; having not done so earlier to give him the chance to heal on his own. Harry introduces them to you on their second visit; you were full of nerves, but they quickly welcomed you into their group. Hermione and Ron visit more now; Hermione having set up a book exchange with you.

The display windows have been painted to depict a winter scene; a log cabin with smoke, evergreen trees covered in lights. It looks like a perfect piece of heaven. Little did those who admired the window scene know, that his little piece of heaven involved this small corner bookshop opened each morning with love.

The time he spends in your bookshop has only increased; he tries to spend every waking moment with you, choosing to spend the nights with you in your flat above the shop.

Harry watches you as you help customers or as you dawdle aimlessly through the aisles in a moment of quiet. Your feet pad quietly on the carpeted floor and Harry can hear you hum the tune of a song so often played on the radio.

Harry has never really been a fan of books, but he is a fan of you. And he could watch you in your bookshop all day long.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


End file.
